I Want Olivia Back
by problematick
Summary: Sometimes, there's just one look that can say it all. Postep to Confrontation.
1. He Needs Her

He listened to her rant, mentally ready to tell her off again, and reiterate his point. How could she believe that being prepared, or informed made you 'ready' to be raped? Because that's what she essentially meant no matter how much she emphasized that wasn't "what I'm trying to get at." She said so emphatically she _wasn't_ blaming the victim. He couldn't think of a more appropriate thing to call her blaming their lack of observational skills as a cause of their rape. To Dani, that was the victim's fault on some level, whether it was unconscious or not.

He understood why she felt that way. She spent so much time being a cop, she didn't know how to be vulnerable. She didn't know how to be a normal woman, who maybe had a boyfriend, or was single, or was just a wife or mother with her family. Her training meant she "looked at the approach of every strange man with caution" automatically. Maybe most women liked to be optimistic, and hope that a man offering to help with groceries meant well. Didn't she get that?

_She_ did. _She_ understood so much more than this replacement; she had all the touches, all the nuances, she had that special relationship with a victim in a second. She always was the one to tell the woman it wasn't her fault, that no one was prepared, that no one deserved this. But would Dani get that? It didn't seem like she wanted to. She was too busy being angry at whatever.

All he wanted right now was a tall, cold beer, an aspirin and his lonely house. And to wake up knowing that she'd be sitting across from him when he got to work.

She seemed to be winding down with her tirade about how women should be better prepared and more informed, and he sighed, knowing from years of experience and years of 'promoting awareness' that there were still going to be the good guys and the bad guys, and he still had a job to do. This was neither the time nor the place to get into it with her about the morals of this unit, and the relationships with victims that she'd either learn to form or learn to avoid.

He knew he could go on for too long about how you could never be ready. How no woman deserved this degradation. And he knew it would end up with him diverting the argument into a spiel about the children. How could innocence deserve this? And then her circular logic would wheel back around to blaming the parents (especially the mother, he was sure), because they were supposed to be aware, they were supposed to do everything right and take better care of his--_their_ kids. This was **not** about him. Nor was it about his assumptions of her, and his opinion of her opinions.

So he bit his lip and sighed. Took a step back and shook his head, then gave her one more intense glance.

Those blue eyes reflected just for an instant his true emotions, his true wishes.

That one, brief, single look said it all.

"_I want Olivia back."_


	2. She Needs Her

He would defend her (he would _always _defend her),prove that it wasn't an 'era' thing. Olivia was a child of rape, and the guy may never had been caught, but he would never manage to regret that, as much pain and suffering it caused for her mother or his partner. Because without her he'd never know anything to compare Dani to. He'd never know the longing of having his partner back. Not his 'old' partner. His _real_ partner. Sure, Beck was great. She was like him, they shared the same undying disgust for the perps they beat down on a regular basis. There was just one problem with this particular situation: he was forced to be the sane one this time.

Oh, Olivia. She was the yin to his almighty, brooding yang. In the interrogation room it was an unbelievable drama that unfolded, every time. A delicate balance of rage and caution, her soft voice breaking down the suspects' walls, his anger frightening them into submission. They wove together a tried-and-true pattern without ever speaking a word. Hell, they hardly had to share glances. Mere body language sent signals. Crossing her arms meant he was going too far. Palm up meant keep attacking. Shaking her head to 'rid her eyes of bangs' meant it was her turn to 'console', or offer a deal. She was the only one he really trusted to keep himself in check, though no one would ever beat this admission out of him. (Though she could maybe coerce it, when she returned. When, not if.) She was his sanity when the cases proved to push him over the precarious ledge of _in_sanity.

He'd never realized there was a female version of himself. Or how much patience it took to deal with 'him'. Every time he apologized to the victim or their family, or had to yank her off a suspect for her excessive force, or talk her down from a harsh verbal berating, he blessed Olivia. Then the pang of angst hit him, the brick wall of her absence, the hole in his heart that grew with every passing day. He realized without Olivia, he would've spiraled long ago, and it was only his job as the older, more experienced SVU detective keeping him on a leash until her return.

Because he was banking on her coming back.

-

He knew with this pregnant victim that Olivia would use her soft voice while he calmed the husband down. He knew she could relate to the woman on some unspoken level. He knew that she'd never get in Ms. Wilson's face for not wanting to retell her story. He knew that she would get the job done without breaking the woman down.

He knew that poor girl wouldn't've killed herself if Olivia had been there. Now Casey decided to take the blame, rather than lay it on Dani. Because he knew that's what she wanted to do. Every look the ADA gave his 'new' partner was filled with the regret that it wasn't her. She'd never be good enough, because she simply didn't have the 'touch' required for live victims.

Every time Casey Novak looked at Dani, and then at him, he saw in her eyes the same look he saw in the mirror every morning when he realized she still wasn't home.

"_I want Olivia back."_


	3. They Do, Too

Munch and Fin worked in tandem, silent and efficient, of a lower profile than the famed Stabler-Benson duo simply because neither one of them had tempers. (That anyone knew of.)

Fin was stoic, simply awaiting her return like a loyal friend should. He knew the Feds could have her doing God-knew-what for God-knew-how-long, and he chose not to dwell. He worked like he always did, only he regretted when Cragen nodded at him and his cynical partner, rather than mixing it up and throwing Olivia by his side. Ever since the first case they'd worked together, he knew he liked her. He knew he could trust her.

So he was grateful that Beck was always with Stabler. That Cragen never tried to 'mix them up' a little. He'd heard how she was, and he knew he didn't want to deal with that kinda mess. One Elliot was enough for him, he didn't need a Stabler-ette beating the crap out of a suspect with him left to pull her off the guy. Frankly, he knew if the guy was the perp, he wouldn't care enough to protect him, despite all his reservations against police brutality.

Only every once in a while, when he was dutifully filling out paperwork at his desk, and he was left too alone with his thoughts did they drift to her, and how she was doing. And don't ever accuse him of not caring. He felt exactly opposite: he didn't want to care too much. So when he took a stretch to rub his itchy eyes and curse the crappy chairs the state stuck them with, he automatically turned his head to his left and sighed.

He sighed because the desk was empty of her presence. It was filled with a stranger, or a stranger's things. He sighed when her pictures were missing, and her ordered mess of files were gone. He almost grimaced if Dani was sitting there, but his mouth only drooped into a cheerless line if it was empty.

Only in those long looks at her empty chair did his eyes convey the mood so many were feeling, and so many couldn't voice.

"_I want Olivia back."_

-

Munch wasn't stupid. He saw those looks Fin gave her desk, and behind his tinted glasses, he blinked slowly at the desk that no longer belonged to Olivia Benson.

Temporary, his freckled ass. She was gone. He was ready to think up a plethora of conspiracy theories for her demise already. His bitter nature had already seeped into the memory of the last good woman around him, and she wasn't even technically gone, too.

Damn. Time to be obstinately ornery and especially cranky and painfully grumpy. All of Fin's ribbings slid off of his dark suits, all especially tailored and of varying shades of black, to mourn her. It was just his way.

Oh, hell. Who was he trying to impress with his denial? His regret smacked him straight in his large, Jewish nose every so often, too. The worst was about a week after she was gone, and he had a question on their last case. Having strolled in around daybreak, he creaked his old knees upstairs to the crib around six, sure she had spent the night. For some reason, looking back, he couldn't explain why for the life of him. When he leaned on the doorknob, and swung into the cot-stuffed room, her absence gave him a nice punch in the face.

That's right, he'd thought. She left, too. His slow closing of the door and return to his desk was even more lugubrious than his usual nature, and Fin arched an eyebrow at him.

"What's up with you, man?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing."

And he looked down at his hands for a few minutes, thinking the thought that had kept Stabler alone and sleepless in that crib for the past week.

"_I want Olivia back."_


End file.
